


Over the Rainbow

by O4amuse



Series: Five Little Pigs [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blow Jobs, Canon Levels of Meta, Charlie Ships It, Coming Untouched, Episode: s09e04 Slumber Party, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Benny Lafitte, POV Castiel, POV Charlie, POV Dean Winchester, POV Kevin Tran, POV Sam Winchester, Possessed Dean, Seraph Castiel, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Saving people, hunting things, the family business? I am down. But... I was raised on Tolkien, man. I mean, where are my White Walkers and my volcano and magic ring to throw in the damn thing?"</p><p>Charlie comes to visit and, before long, there's flying monkey poop everywhere. How do Cas, Benny, Kevin and the Winchesters handle unwanted Oz immigrants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

There was a _thud thud thud_ on the bunker door. Kevin looked up from his book with a slightly panicked expression.

  “I thought you said this place was secret?”

  Sam checked his phone and grinned. “Mostly secret.”

He yelled down the corridor for Dean and took the stairs two at a time. When he swung the door open, Charlie was standing there with a cheerful smile and a backpack. He leaned down to give her a warm hug.

  “Speak, friend, and enter.”

  “Mellon to you too.” She squeezed back and then slipped under his arm. “Missed this place.”

  “Is that Charlie?” Dean called, coming up from the kitchen.

  “Do I look like the Avon lady? Don’t answer that.” She ran down the stairs and threw herself enthusiastically at him.

  “Oof!” He staggered back a couple of steps. “Easy, kiddo.”

  She pulled back and looked him over with a frown. “Are you okay? You’re, like, Jack Skellington thin.”

  “Been watching my figure,” he said, smiling a little.

  “The Trials?”

  Kevin was staring nervously at her from the library arch, hugging close to the wall. “How do you know about those? Who are you?”

  “Charlie, Kevin; Kevin, Charlie.” Dean waved a vague introductory hand.

  “Charlie’s our IT support,” Sam said. “Amongst other things. Kevin is -”

  “The Prophet.” She held up her fingers in a Vulcan greeting. “Hey, man. Good to see you got away from Crowley.”

  Kevin retreated fast, putting a table between them. His skin was pale and his breathing fast. “How do you know about that?”

  “Hey, it’s okay. I read the _Supernatural_ books, of course.”

  “The… what?”

  Dean groaned. “You had to tell him.”

  “You really can’t delete those from the internet?” Sam asked hopelessly. He’d got mostly used to the idea of his life being in text but it was still freaking weird. His friends reading it was the cherry on top.

  “Not even I can do that.” Charlie gave an apologetic smile that suggested she wouldn’t, even if she could.

  “What are the Supernatural books?”

  She turned back to Kevin enthusiastically. “There’s this guy, Carver Edlund, who was, I dunno, the Prophet before you or something. He’s written the Adventures of Sam and Dean in a series of books. They’re on Amazon -”

  “What?!” Dean threw his hands in the air in disgust. “Awesome.”

  “And someone uploaded all the unpublished works. They go right up to… um…” She reached out hesitantly and patted Dean’s arm. “Sorry you got sent to Purgatory.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait,” Sam said, frowning. “Kevin’s been the Prophet for a couple of years now. There’s only ever one at a time, right? So if he’s in the books, who was writing them?”

  “Well, it certainly read like Edlund’s work.”

  “Had to be.” Dean leaned against the desk, holding Sam’s gaze. “No one else would’ve known about Kevin.”

  “Who uploaded them?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know.” Charlie took her backpack off and put it down on the table. “Their screen name was beckywinchester176. Ring a bell?”

  “None. Uh, nobody’s. Uh, no, there are no bells.” Sam bit his lip and carefully didn’t meet Dean’s glare. They were good, better than good, but Dean didn’t like to be reminded.

  “Uhuh.” Charlie was looking at him with deep scepticism. She raised her fingers and air-typed. “You know I can find out in, like, two minutes.”

  Sam looked at his feet. “My, uh… my wife.”

  “EX wife,” Dean said sharply.

  Charlie stared, wide-eyed. “That wasn’t in the books. How ex?”

  “Just legally,” Sam assured her. “Not, y’know, vitally.”

  “Shoulda gutted the bitch,” Dean muttered, folding his arms.

  “So,” Charlie said brightly, “this table issue you called me about, Sam.”

  “Yeah, thanks for coming so quick.”

  “Not a problem. Especially since I got fired last week. Turns out the company I work for was outsourcing to child labour, so I took a big Wikileak all over that. It’s cool, though. It’s given me more time to focus on my hobbies. Like larping, macrame, hunting.”

  Dean dropped his arms. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It was just a couple little cases. I took down a teenage vampire and a ghost.” She pulled a face. “Which sounds like a Y.A. novel if you say it out loud.”

  “What’s wrong with the table?” Kevin said, sounding a little panicky again.

  Sam led the way over to the map table and leaned his fingertips on its surface. “Benny said it flared up just as Dean finished the third Trial. Points of light showing all over the world. I’m guessing that was the gates of Hell slamming shut.”

  “Benny’s the vampire, right?” Charlie crouched down and began to explore the underneath. “Like Edward Cullen, only way less lame.”

  Sam gave a snort of laughter. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the compliment, if he had any idea what it meant. Anyway, it made me wonder what else we can track on this. But I can’t find any kind of a power source, and it doesn’t exactly run on Microsoft Office.”

After a long moment’s hesitation, Kevin knelt on the opposite side of the table and helped Charlie take the panel off. Dean rolled his eyes.

  “If they’re going all computer nerd, I’m off to clean the guns.”

He gave the back of Sam’s neck an affectionate squeeze, bit his ear gently, and wandered off. Charlie’s head popped back up and she stared after with her mouth open.

  “Holy Snapes on a plane, Batman,” she said in awe. “What did I just see?”

   _Oh fuck_ , thought Sam, freezing.

He’d been so used to the bunker being this bubble of safety that he’d completely forgotten to adjust for someone else's presence. Benny and Cas knew pretty immediately after the fact that he and Dean were together. They’d tried to keep it from Kevin for as long as possible (Dean joked about not being able to afford that much therapy), but the truth was they were drawn to each other like magnets these days. It was unthinking, instinctive, irresistable. If Dean was in the same room, Sam had to be physically close to him, touching regularly. He’d tried not to, at first, for Kevin’s sake, but after half an hour every muscle ached as his body strained towards Dean.

Kevin had been seriously squeamish when he worked it out. Sam lost count of how often the kid had muttered ‘but you’re brothers!’. Eventually, though, Cas’ explanations about soulmates seemed to get through and now it was just an accepted thing. Cas took epically long showers; Kevin needed a lock on his door to feel safe; Benny got a fridge to himself; Sam and Dean were lovers.

But Charlie didn’t know about the soul-bond. She wouldn’t understand. 

The warm, relaxed feeling that Sam had unconsciously sunk right into over the past few weeks suddenly vanished. His neck and shoulders began to hurt as the muscles clenched up, back into the tension he’d been used to for years and hadn’t noticed losing until it returned. He felt cold and sick, afraid to look at Charlie. Afraid to see how she was looking at him. There were very few people in the world whose opinions mattered, but hers was one. He desperately missed Dean’s warm strength pressed against his side, but their mind-reading abilities had faded after a fortnight.

  Charlie stood up, a serious look on her face. “Are you and Dean… you know… dancing the horizontal tango?”

  Kevin snorted and banged his head against the bottom of the table. “Ow!”

  “Sam?”

  Sam swallowed hard, his face flaming, mouth too dry to speak.

  “Oh my God, you are!” Charlie clapped her hands together, a massive grin blooming. “Frikkin’ finally!”

  Sam was startled into looking at her. “What?”

  “Dude,” she said. “There’s, like, entire libraries dedicated to the unresolved sexual tension between you two.” Sam looked at her blankly and she rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “ _Supernatural_ fan fiction.”

  “Slash fans,” he said, remembering the phrase dimly from his first encounter with Carver Edlund.

  “It’s not like I could say anything, since I knew you were really real and everything, but I totally ship it.” She gave a happy sigh and wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist.

  “I… thanks?” Sam wasn’t entirely sure why she seemed so pleased, or what ships had to do with anything, but he was entirely willing to take the apparent free pass. He hugged her back gently and let her go.

  “Okay,” she said, bouncing on her toes a little. “So, I’ve been here less than half an hour and already I’ve learned about Sam’s secret ex-wife, and the fact my favourite OTP totally are, and you guys have a magic table. Because this isn’t like any tech I’ve seen before. But there are cables powering it and they gotta lead somewhere. Any ideas?”

  “There’s a generator room,” Sam suggested.

  “Great.” Charlie grabbed her laptop. “Take the hobbits to Isengard.”

  Kevin laughed, actually laughed for the first time since Sam could remember, and bumped his head on the table again. “OW!”


	2. Charlie

Charlie sprawled comfortably on the bed next to Kevin, who had finally calmed down after watching her make the museum-grade computer in the basement sit up and beg.  _ Game of Thrones  _ was on the screen and the boys were all absorbed which meant she could watch them. She was fully up to date on the epic hotness that was Daenerys Targaryen but she’d never really seen the Winchesters relaxed. 

Sam lay cradled between Dean’s thighs, one hand rubbing gentle circles around his brother’s knee. Dean’s fingers hadn’t stopped carding softly through Sam’s hair since the opening credits. There was a soft look on both their faces, something almost like wonder. It made Charlie think of Christmas as a kid, when she got up to find that the PlayStation she’d pined over and never believed would be hers was under the tree after all, with her name on it. 

It was a good look for them. 

Charlie liked the people she liked to be happy. Reading Carver Edlund’s stuff had actually been pretty gruelling whenever she stopped to think about it, because it made clear how desperately impossible happiness was for her two overgrown totally-not-big-brothers. To find out they’d managed it anyway… She wasn’t crying. Nope. Except totally legitimately over the execution of Sansa’s direwolf, Lady. 

  Dean stirred as the episode finished. “Wow. That Joffrey’s a dick.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Charlie said, loving that he’d enjoyed it. “Wait until he-”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Sam held up both hands, laughing. “Spoilers. I haven’t read all the books yet.”

  “You’re gonna read the books?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, Dean, I like to read books. You know, the ones without pictures?”

  Dean tugged at his hair. “Nerd.”

  “Dude, you’re totally outnumbered.” Sam gestured to Charlie and Kevin. 

  “Shall I put the next disc in?” Kevin said, driving the point home.

  “When’s your technical wizardry gonna be finished, Charlie?”

  “Downloading all the Men of Letters files, then running them through my monster ID programme, and then syncing that with your table? Yeah, that’ll take a few hours.”

  “Can I get a look at the coding later?” Kevin asked. “What did you use, Python?”

  “Okay, Alan Turing, calm down,” Dean said. “Let’s get back to a more fundamental question.”

  “You’ve been hunting,” Sam said, looking at Charlie.

  “Alone,” Dean added.

  She bit her lip, unable to meet the twin gazes levelled at her. She should never have said anything. Obviously their super-developed protectiveness was going to have a problem with it. “I know, I know. Not a good idea.”

  “Terrible,” Dean said emphatically. 

  “She’s still here, though,” Sam said, calming his brother with a hand on Dean’s thigh. “So how’d it go?”

  She flashed back to the nausea-inducing terror, the freezing water making her bones hurt, the crashing certainty of her own vulnerable weakness, and summoned up a shaky smile. “It was, uh… it was intense. But I kind of wish hunting was more magical, you know? Saving people hunting things, the family business? I am down. But I was raised on Tolkien, man. I mean, where is all this?” She waved at the DVD in Kevin’s hand. “Where are my White Walkers and my volcano and magic ring to throw in the damn thing? Where’s my quest?” 

It couldn’t all be trudging through stinking sewers, knowing that even if you did manage to find and gank Spike’s cousins no one would know, or say thanks, and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference in the grand scheme of things. Sure, the apocalypse had sounded pant-browningly terrifying but at least there had been a  _ point  _ to it.

The three boys had all gone quiet, eyes down. 

  “Magic, quests…” Sam said at last. “They suck. Trust me.”

  Kevin thrust a trembling hand in front of her face. “The King of Hell cut my finger off. That makes me Frodo, right?”

  Charlie looked at him, all bloodless skin and blown pupils, dark circles and peeling nostrils. “Yeah,” she said softly.  _ I’d have to learn to touch-type all over again. _

  “I closed all the hellgates,” Dean rasped, jerking her attention back to him. He held her gaze, though she could tell it cost him. In front of him, Sam had closed his eyes, a slight crease between his brows. Both hands were digging tight into Dean’s jeans. “That was a quest with magic. Cost me my soul. Now Sam’s gotta share his. Running on half-power for the rest of his life.”

  “Dean…” Sam murmured.

  “Worst you can lose on a normal hunt is your life, Charlie.” Dean’s face was shadowed, sharp-angled. “And even that’s too much. Don’t go chasing after epic boss fights. They always cost more’n you can afford.”

  “Okay, drama queen.” Sam rolled to his feet with a grunt and held out his hand. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “Help me get ice cream for everyone.”

Dean grumbled but let Sam haul him up and they left the room in step, hands brushing. Charlie turned wide eyes on Kevin.

  “Are they like that a lot, these days?”

  “All the time.” He’d pulled out the episode guide and was reading ahead. “I try not to get involved.”

  “What did Dean mean about the whole soul thing?”

  “Hmm? Oh, he died and his soul’s what’s holding the gates of Hell shut. Cas and Sam did some ritual to put half of Sam’s soul in Dean’s body. Hence the whole Flowers in the Bunker thing they’ve got going.”

  “So… if one of them dies, will the other one go too?”

  Kevin looked up, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know. That’d be a question for Cas. He and Benny should be back soon. They’re dealing with a psycho shaman-chef up in Oklahoma.” 

  “How come Dean-”

  “He wanted to but Sam said he’s still too weak.”

  Charlie blinked. “And Dean accepted that?”

  “Well, he called Sam a mother hen. But yeah.” 

  She shook her head. “Must be the end of the world.”

  Kevin snorted. “Again.”

  “If at first you don’t succeed, yadda yadda.” 

  Kevin’s expression darkened. “You too, huh?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they’re like.” He waved an emphatic arm towards the door. “Keep on grinding, keep on fighting. There’s no end to it, no way out. It’s never over. It’s like… if you get dragged into their orbit, you’ll never be free again.”

  “I’m free as a… as a very free thing, thank you,” Charlie retorted. 

  “Okay, so you aren’t trapped down here with the rest of us, but you do what they tell you. Your life got ruined because you met them.”

  “I used to think that,” she admitted, recalling the first office escapade with Dick Roman. The following months of duck-and-cover had been… well, looking back now, they were actually pretty tame. The boys had caused Roman enough trouble that he had no time to spare for a missing IT tech. “But then I realised, if I hadn’t met them, I’d have been in the same mess but with no answers and no back-up. It isn’t their fault, you know. They don’t ask you to join. They just…”

  “Use you once you’re in,” Kevin said bitterly.

  Charlie took a firm grip on her temper. The kid was obviously unwell. “We’re saving people. Sometimes the whole world. Yeah, any tool that comes to hand. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

  “I had a life! A life I’m not allowed to go back to.”

  “How could you? You know what’s out there. You really think there’s still a ‘normal’ for any of us, once we’ve seen behind the veil?” She made an effort at a smile. “We’re the lucky ones. We got the Hogwarts acceptance letter. The world is more amazing and weird and wonderful than nearly everybody knows, and we get to play with it. Positive mental attitude, Kev. Positive mental attitude.” He flopped back on the sofa cushions with a groan and Charlie abruptly decided she’d had enough. “I’m gonna go check on the upload. If they get back before I do, no one’s allowed to eat my ice cream.”


	3. Dean

Dean leaned against the kitchen counter and watched appreciatively as Sammy bent down to rummage through the bottom of the freezer. He never got tired of looking. The man could move like a tiger, all coiled grace and muscle, and then flip over into uncoordinated puppy as soon as he felt safe. There’d been a lot more puppy in evidence over the last few weeks – loose-limbed sprawling on couches, affectionate swipes at Dean with his freakishly long arms, adorably bleary stumbling first thing in the morning. Dean loved this new easy relaxation on his brother.

 “You could help,” Sam said, straightening up with his hands full of ice cream tubs. “Grab some bowls.”

 Dean held up four spoons. “I figured we’d eat from the carton.”

 “Caveman.”

 “You know it.” He stepped in close, groin pushing against Sam’s hip.

 “Dean, my hands are full.”

 “You been wriggling on my lap all evening, Sammy.” Dean dropped his voice to a purr. “Then you drag me away from the kids for some quiet time. What did you think was gonna happen?”

 Sam’s breath hitched. “I thought we’d get dessert.”

 “Yeah?” Dean slid his hand over Sam’s thigh to press against his groin. “You want some more sugar?”

 Sam snorted and leaned past Dean to put the ice cream down on the counter behind him. “It’s a miracle you ever got laid, with pick-up lines like that.”

He cupped his hands around Dean’s face. They were ice-cold and Dean drew an involuntary breath. Then Sam was pressing into his senses, his mouth, filling the space in front of him with that long, lean body. Dean reached for his hips, yanking him closer, running hungry palms up under his shirt to roam over the broad expanse of lower back.

He smelled of vanilla and salt and Sammy, intoxicating and addictive. It was the smell of home, no matter where they were, sweet and constant and safe. Dean breathed him in, arching the vulnerable length of his neck under Sam’s strong hands. He still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed this, the warm and enclosing rightness of it. He’d never stop being grateful.

Actually... That gave him an idea.

He took hold of Sam’s hands, pulling them away, and placed them either side of him on the counter top. He dived back into the kiss, taking control this time, all delving tongue and playful nips, until Sam’s breathing was fast and hungry. Then he flipped open Sam’s fly with a deft twist, gave a wicked grin, and dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor. Sam made a ragged sound, curving his body over Dean as his jeans hit the deck.

This. Dean would never stop loving this. Sammy, his Sammy, flushed and needy, wanting him, his hands, his mouth. Letting Dean take care of him, begging for it. Dean smoothed his palms up Sam’s flanks and breathed in the scent, darker, muskier, all dominant male.

People assumed Dean was in charge. Hell, even Sam assumed it, and Dean let him because he was happier that way. But Dean knew the truth. He was wired to do whatever Sammy wanted, give everything he was asked for. That’s why he was the one who spread Sam out on the bed at night and took his brother slowly apart with tongue and teeth and fingertips, peeling back the defensive layers until the only thing left was pleasure. That’s why he was the one on his knees, mouthing soft-lipped at Sam’s beautiful cock, coaxing out the bitten-off moans that Sam swore blind he never made and Dean kept polished and shining in his memory.

This was his soundtrack. Not Zeppelin or Metallica, but Sammy. This was the beat he breathed to, marched to, matched his pulse to. The scratchy inhale as Dean flicked his tongue over Sam’s slit, the throbbing heat under his curled fingers as he tightened his grip, the gasped _fuck, Dean_ , from overhead as he wrapped his lips around the silken iron of Sam’s erection and slid slowly down.

The world was under his lips and fingertips, his whole world pulsing synchronised, their hearts matching beat for beat, and he could feel Sam moving through him, feel the tidal wave of his brother surging under his breastbone. They’d always been close, same backseat, same bars, same bed, but this was better than close, _same spark plugs, Sammy,_  and there wasn’t even a word for what Dean felt because ‘love’ was too small and abused and overused, this was bigger, like gravity, and that thought made Dean hum with laughter because this wasn’t love, it was physics.

  Sam grabbed at his hair, pulling, and the prickle of sharpness flooded his senses like electricity, sparking him brighter. “Gonna be over fast if you do that.”

Dean glanced up at his brother’s flushed face, pupils wide and black, not demon-black but dark as the midnight sky and there were stars there, whole fucking galaxies which only he got to see, and how did he, with the infamous Winchester luck, ever get this lucky. He purred, deep in his chest, caveman-proud, and Sam’s hips stuttered forward, _Dean, fuck, Dean_ , playing his song in raw gasps that burned them both, lit them up, neon signs on the road. This was what he was made for, to set match to gas and send the flames roaring through flesh, the heat from Sam’s skin scorching, his tongue dictating Sam’s speech, making his genius little brother monosyllabic, _Dean, fuck, Dean_ , commands that sounded like begging and he would always give Sammy everything he was asked for.

Both hands in his hair, long fingers digging deep, sending staticky jolts through his veins to his cock, pressing painfully hard against his fly, pressure building like a thunderhead. Sam was coming in a lemon-bitter flood down his throat, every muscle in that long beautiful body curled tight and needy over him, his name a prayer sighed out against the counter, and the galaxies were his, all his, physics moving through his bones like an earthquake, shaking him apart as he let it in, let go, pressure giving way to a tidal wave of pleasure, and he’d never stop being grateful to the dark, bloody, fucked-up universe for giving him this.

Fingers loosened in his hair, stroking it back, and he opened his eyes, blinking.

  “Thought I was supposed to be the one who passed out,” Sam said, smiling fondly.

  “I’m sorry, was that not up to your high standards, princess?” He licked the come from his lips, enjoying Sam’s hitched breath in response, and got up, shaking the ache out of his knees. Damn it, he hated getting older, had never thought he would.

  “You know what they say. Practice makes perfect.”

  “Never let it be said I neglected any part of your training, young Skywalker.”

Sam tucked himself away and ran both hands through his hair. It didn’t make the slightest bit of difference but Dean secretly loved Sam’s hair after sex, mussed and slightly wild, so he didn’t comment. Besides, he needed to go change his jeans so he didn't exactly have a valid argument. The first time it’d happened he’d been embarrassed, _like a fucking teenager, don’t fucking laugh, Sam, I’ll kick your ass_ , but his brother was under his skin, he wouldn't change that even if he could, so he might as well enjoy the ride. Besides, it wasn’t like Sammy was any different when he was the one on his knees.

  “The ice cream’s started to melt.”

  Dean shrugged. “Better feed it to the starving hordes then. I’ll be five minutes.”

  “Dean.”

Sam’s voice had him turning back without thinking about it, and his face was cupped in his brother’s warm hands. Sam kissed him sweetly, tenderly, like he was something precious and fragile, and it hurt every time they did this but it was the kind of hurt that reminded Dean he was still alive, because Sam gave away half his soul. It hurt like gravity.

He pulled away first, he always pulled away first, Sam being the one to retreat was a thought with chainsaw edges, and strode down to his room. It was still his room, and Sam’s was still Sam’s, for no reason other than they hadn’t bothered to move stuff twenty yards down the corridor. His jeans went into the pile of clothes next to the laundry basket (what the fuck was the point of carefully putting dirty stuff away in a basket) and he pulled on a clean pair, soft and faded with use. The familiar treacle feeling of laziness was seeping through his limbs and eyelids. They’d watch another coupla episodes of _Game of Thrones_ , Sam stretched out warm and safe between his legs, and he could doze off while they were all glued to the screen. Damn, that sounded awesome. Maybe he really was getting old.

There was a distant shout echoing down the corridor outside. Dean yanked the door open, snatching up his gun.

  “Guys!” Charlie yelled. “There’s something weird! Uh… more weird!”

Not enough panic in her voice for this to be life or death so Dean let himself walk rather than running. Charlie was half-out of the generator door, shooting nervous glances back over her shoulder. Dean held his gun in both hands, muzzle down, and jerked his head for her to get out of the way. She pulled back and he slid into the room, eyes scanning the shadows. A grey cobwebby mesh had spread across one wall in the few hours they’d been absent, with two person-sized lumps in the middle. He straightened up as Sam prowled in behind him, and drew his knife. A quick glance, _cover me_ , and they closed in smoothly. Dean stabbed into the grey and ripped upwards.

He was expecting ooze, maybe a tentacle or two, certainly something disgusting and monstery. He wasn’t expecting a woman’s arm to flop out, still attached at the elbow. He looked at Sam, eyebrows raised, who shrugged for him to keep going. Regripping the knife, he cut up to the top and took a sharp step backward, rapidly swapping knife for gun, as the rest of the woman flopped onto the ground. Dark hair, good skin, awesome leather jacket, unconscious.

  “Human?” Sam asked.

  Then Charlie pushed between them, holding an open glass bottle with a yellowing label. “I found this on the floor over there. Have you seen this?” She waved it enthusiastically under Dean’s nose.

  He squinted. “‘Dorothy Baum’?”

  “Seriously?” Sam lowered his gun.

  “Who the fuck is Dorothy Baum, and why is she podding out of our wall?”

  “Frank Baum wrote the _Wizard of Oz_ ,” Charlie said breathlessly. “About a girl called Dorothy who found another world and went on a magical quest.”

Dean looked from Charlie’s eyes, lit up like beacons, to the woman at his feet who was beginning to stir, and sighed. This couldn’t possibly end well.


	4. Benny

The crazy shaman-chef had been harder to deal with than he oughta. His recipes for self-improvement meant Benny’s speed and Cas’s strength weren’t quite the game-changers they were used to. Still, it was done and dusted, the man stretched out with smoking eye sockets on his kitchen floor, and Benny had a takeaway carton of souvenirs in his pocket. People ate shark fin, right? So there couldn’t be no objection to a vampire trying, well, anything non-sentient. A man could live on banked blood alone but variety was the spice of life and all.

Cas pinged them back into the kitchen, which was mighty considerate as it meant Benny could refrigerate his delicacies nice and quick. Then the two of them followed the voices up to the library. Although… weren’t there a couple more voices than usual? And higher pitched, at that. Benny shot a look at Cas, who was frowning distantly in that way he had which meant his senses were running on ahead.

  “Two human women,” the angel said. “One of them is annoyed but no one is angry.”

  “Alright, then.” Benny rolled his shoulders loose again and strode on out with a wide grin. “No one told me we was expecting guests.”

  “Well, if you can’t keep up with our busy social calendar,” Dean shot back, standing up. “How’d the hunt go?”

  “Freaky cuisine.” Benny scanned the room quickly. Two human women, like Cas said, one dark and one copper, sat around the desk with Sam and Kevin. The dark one had a blanket around her shoulders but her eyes were those of a predator. The copper one was smiling brightly at him, no weapon, just a kid. “Who’s your friends?”

  “Charlie, this is Benny.”

  The copper woman held out her hand with a bright smile. “Hi. Thanks for saving Dean from Purgatory.”

  “You’re welcome,” Benny said, raising an eyebrow at Dean over her head.

  “And this is Cas,” the hunter continued, as Castiel came into the library behind them.

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “Woah.” She ducked round Benny and gave the startled angel a tight hug. “I thought you’d be shorter.”

  “My true form is roughly the size of your Chrysler Building,” Cas assured her earnestly.

At the table, Sam gave a snort of amusement. Benny looked over at him, and the woman sitting opposite.

  “And your other friend?”

  “Oh, this is Dorothy,” Charlie said, turning back with excitement. “The first case investigated in this bunker was hers. She and the Wicked Witch of Oz went into the computer room in the basement seventy five years ago and they never came out, until now. This will never stop blowing my mind!”

  “Okay, pace yourself, Toto,” Dean said in a low voice.

  “Oz is real?” Benny said, blinking. Angels and demons, sure, but he never expected a child’s book to start springing monsters on him.

  “It is a substrata of the fairy realm,” Cas replied, frowning slightly at Dorothy. “You said the Wicked Witch was with her?”

  “We have to find her,” Dorothy said flatly.

  “No, we have to talk before anyone does anything, okay?” Sam leaned forwards across the table. “According to our files you came here to kill the Witch and then disappeared. What happened?”

  “We couldn’t find a way to kill her. So I did the only thing that I could.”

  “Turned her into goo?” Dean asked doubtfully, folding his arms.

   Benny blinked. “Huh?”

  “We knocked over a bottle of goo and a few hours later Kansas here pods out of the basement wall.” Dean shrugged. “I assume that’s what happened to the Witch too. She’d popped out before we arrived.”

  “Not goo,” Dorothy snapped. “A binding spell. But it came at a price - her soul with mine.”

  “So you’re bonded souls too?” Kevin piped up from the corner of the room, where he’d been watching Dorothy warily. “Cas, I thought you said that was rare.”

  “It is rare to find it occurring naturally,” Castiel said. “Dorothy is referring to manufacturing the bond. It is an extremely dangerous spell.”

  “You’ve been frozen with the Witch for all this time?” Sam said.

  “Yes.” Dorothy pushed herself up, dropping the blanket around her shoulders to the floor. “Look, the Witch cannot be killed. If I’m awake then so is she.”

  “So, what happens to you happens to her?” Dean flicked a glance at his brother, his jaw tightening.

  “So that’s why she didn’t kill you,” Charlie said excitedly. “You’re protected.”

  “I’m protected; you aren’t. Now, the Witch came here looking for something. I have no idea what it is but we have to find her before she finds it.”

  “Alright, alright.” Dean sighed. “Charlie, Kevin, dig in the files, see if you can find anything that puts a dent in the Witch. Benny, you’re with Sam; Cas, you’re with me. The four of us’ll see if we can track her down.”

  “I’m helping,” Dorothy said fiercely.

  “I don’t doubt it.” Sam turned back, letting Dean and Cas go on ahead. “But for now why don’t you rest up and help the smartest people in the room.”

Dorothy paused, looking uncertainly at Charlie. Benny smiled with a touch of sympathy. It wasn’t all that long since he’d had to adjust to modern ideas of equality and he remembered the feeling of culture shock. He gave the poor woman a polite nod and followed Sam towards the kitchen.

  “Seem to have spent the last few days hunting through kitchens,” he drawled.

  “Oh yeah, how’d it go?”

  “You know that old wives tale about you are what you eat? Turns out it ain’t just an old wives tale.”

  “Really? Wow. So any day now Dean’s actually going to turn into a pie.”

  “Or you.”

Sam’s expression was so outraged that Benny had to stop briefly and lean against the wall, he was laughing so hard.

  “Dude! I do not need you commenting on our love life.”

  “Might consider installing some better soundproofing, then.” Benny’s cheeks hurt from grinning so hard.

  “Damn vampiric super-hearing,” Sam muttered, blushing furiously as he turned away.

  “I could offer tips,” Benny said, following. “You ever noticed how much he says ‘bite me’? Maybe you should try it.”

  Even the back of Sam’s neck was red now. Benny could practically smell the blood under his skin. “I am not having this conversation.”

  “You two are the only ones seeing any action around here. Gotta live vicariously. In more ways than one, in my case.”

  “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “And I thought you were the smart one.”

They turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped abruptly at the scene of devastation. Cupboard doors stood open, pans and food scattered across every surface including the floor. Every drawer had been pulled out and up-ended.

  “I was only here ten minutes ago,” Benny said slowly. “Whatever she wants, she wants it bad.”

  “Dean’s gonna be pissed.” Sam lowered his gun. “He just finished cleaning in here.”

  “Given you two grew up in motel rooms, that man is real house-proud.”

Two sets of footsteps in the corridor behind them, light and quick. Benny shook his head as Sam raised his gun on reflex.

  “It’s the ladies.”

  Sure enough, Charlie and Dorothy rounded the corner. “I got something,” Charlie called excitedly.

  “Already?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “That was quick.”

  “I am awesome.” Benny saw her wriggle with pleasure at the compliment though. “Poppy extract. The original Man of Letters on the case, Haggarty, made a deal with a fairy to get some from the poppy fields in Oz. It won’t kill the witch but it will stone the crap out of her. I figure if we put it in some bullets, that’d work.”

  “Great. Any ideas about what she’s after yet?”

  “Kevin thinks it’s a key. He found a reference to ‘the Key to Oz’ in an inventory.”

  “Ring any bells, Dorothy?” Sam asked.

  “Unfortunately. This key will turn any locked door into a portal to Oz. If she finds it, she’ll go back and finish what she started. She’ll destroy all that’s good in Oz. She’s got armies of witches, flying monkeys...” She looked distraught. “Many will die.”

  “Do you know what it looks like?” Benny asked gently.

   She tugged a leather-bound journal from her jacket and flipped through the pages. “Here.”

  “Wait.” Sam took the book from here, frowning closely at it. “I’ve seen that key. Dean found it a couple of weeks back. It’s in his room.”

  “We have to get it before she does.”

  “Benny and I will search the bedroom. You guys go make us some anti-Witch bullets. You know the way to the gun range?”

  “I do,” Dorothy said, her right hand flexing.

  “You have a gun range in this place?” Charlie said. “Of course you do.”

  Benny watched them go then glanced at Sam. “You know, if Dorothy realizes I’m a vamp, things might get a little interesting.”

  “So don’t flash your fangs,” Sam said with a touch of impatience, leading the way towards the bedrooms. “One problem at a time, man.”

  “Easy for you to say. It ain’t your back feeling itchy.”

  “I think, between the five of us, we can probably protect you from one hunter.”

  “Don’t underestimate her, brother. She brought down this Witch on her own.”

  Sam shrugged a shoulder. “Fair point. Look, if it comes to it we’ll just explain that you’re one of the good guys. Things have changed since her time, after all.”

  “That’s a big old change.” Benny paused as Sam reached for Dean’s bedroom door. “Wait, is it clean in there? Do I need to avert my eyes?”

  “Dude, no,” Sam said, sounding offended. “Will you knock it off?”

Benny chuckled and followed him in. It was actually remarkably tidy. The bed was made, the shelves were organised, a couple of boxes stacked neatly against the walls. The only thing out of place was a pair of jeans on the floor. Sam blushed and put them into the laundry hamper with an affected air of nonchalance. Benny coughed to cover an outright laugh and crouched over one of the boxes to sort through it.

  “‘ _Busty Asian Beauties_ ’,” he read aloud. “In issue order, no less. Now, what is your brother doing with all this porn in his room? Ain’t you -”

  “So not having this conversation,” Sam interrupted firmly, setting his gun down on the dresser to rummage through another box. “Ah! Yahtzee.”

Benny turned, to see the Witch standing immediately behind Sam. He snarled instinctively and Sam spun round. The Witch grabbed the key out of Sam’s hand and back-handed him with ferocious strength. The hunter went flying, tumbling across the bed and into the far corner. The Witch raised a hand glowing with green power and every hair on Benny’s nape stood up. He knew death when he saw it. She thrust her arm viciously towards Sam. Benny flung himself across the room, teeth bared. Green burst across his vision like fire. Something hit his chest like a cannonball, searing pain, picking him up, his thoughts, flinging everything around in a tornado. There was a roaring noise that filled the world, louder and louder.

Then there was nothing at all.


	5. Castiel

Castiel followed Dean closely as they made their way through the corridors. His friend - such a strange word, he still was unused to it - was in no shape to take on a witch. Dean might pretend otherwise, to himself as much as others, but Castiel could see how thinly he was stretched inside. Sam, too, but Sam was strong and healthy enough that his soul was recovering rapidly. Dean had no such reserves. 

At least he had stopped coughing up blood and started regaining weight. He was clearly sleeping better, too. Castiel had checked in on his dreams occasionally, after the Trials were over. There were the usual nightmares, of course - Alistair, Purgatory, Stull Cemetery - but every time they started getting bad, and Dean became restless, Sam draped an arm over his stomach or kissed his forehead and the nightmares faded. Castiel wondered why Sam had not offered such comfort before. Perhaps Dean would not have accepted it? His friend could be stubborn about refusing emotional support. Or perhaps they both felt that they needed the sanction of the soul-bonding to make it acceptable. As if social strictures were more important than their own well-being. 

Humans could be very strange. Even after so many centuries of watching, and the latter handful of years walking among them, Castiel still had trouble understanding their thought processes. Metatron had been most helpful in that respect. The Scribe was reluctant to meet in person, anxious to stay off Heaven’s radar, but they had exchanged several letters and Castiel was able to ask him questions that would only earn a confused frown from the Winchesters. Metatron phrased everything in terms of stories, and he had a tendency to view people as characters rather than living beings, but Castiel assumed it was a coping mechanism for his long aeons of exile amongst such short-lived creatures. In his last letter he had described humans as ‘predictable chaos’, and said that any action they took - no matter how apparently illogical - could be attributed to love, fear or greed. Castiel had gone back over past events in his mind and been able to apply one of those three labels to everything the Winchesters had done whilst he had known them. He found it a pleasantly warming thought that the most frequent motivator was love. 

  “Guess we should really have explored this place properly already,” Dean muttered as he opened a door onto another identical corridor. “I got no clue where this goes.”

  “Is there no floorplan in the Men of Letters files?” Castiel asked.

  “Not that I’ve seen. You don’t draw maps of your own house.” Dean shrugged. “Remind me to have a proper recce later.”

  “Have a proper recce later,” Castiel repeated obediently.

  “No, not… wait.” Dean straightened up and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, did you just try to make a joke?”

  “Was it not amusing?” Castiel said anxiously. He found human humour almost impossible to quantify. Something else Metatron was trying to help him with, although so far the Scribe’s explanations had not been quite so enlightening on that subject.

  “Uh… well, points for effort, I guess.” There was a gleam of amusement in Dean’s eye and Castiel relaxed. “Come on, Alice, let’s head down the rabbit hole.”

  “My name is not Alice, and this is not a rabbit hole.”

  “Yeah, I know, Cas, it was a… never mind.”

Castiel sighed. So much of human communication depended on having a shared world context. The absence of that made things very difficult. It also explained Metatron’s interest in stories and his consequently superior understanding. Perhaps, when everyone else was asleep, Castiel should start reading. 

  “Dean, may I borrow some of your reading material?”

  “Why? There’s a whole library upstairs.”

  “I wish to try fiction. You have magazines, do you not?” Dean choked and Castiel reached for him, concerned that he might suddenly have started coughing blood again. “Dean, are you alright?”

  “Yeah, fine, I’m fine.” He waved Castiel away, face red. “Dude, those magazines… they’re not, like, traditional reading material. They’re more about the, um, pictures.”

  “Oh.” 

  “Sam’s got some fiction you could borrow.” 

  “I will ask him, then.”

  “You do that.”

  “Are you sure you are well? Your face is flushed. Are you feverish?”

  “I’m fine, Cas.” Dean turned away, avoiding his eyes. “We hunting this bitch or what?”

  “Of course. I -”

   A prayer burst across Castiel’s senses, loud and urgent, smelling of lemongrass~sulfur~dust~rage.  _ Cas, I need you here now. The Witch hit Benny with something and he’s down. _

  “Sam is calling me,” he said.

  Dean swung round. “What’s happened?”

  “Benny is hurt. They are in your room.”

  “I'll find her.” Dean’s face was dark. "You go."

Castiel flew to Sam, following the line of prayer, and landed in the corner of Dean’s bedroom. Benny was sprawled face-down on the floor, Sam kneeling anxiously beside him. 

  “She threw some kind of green energy at me,” Sam said, looking up. “He jumped in front and went down like a sack of bricks.”

  Castiel narrowed his gaze to examine the vampire. There were traces of faerie magic on his heart, scars like lightning strikes marking the necrotic tissue. “You are lucky he did. This would undoubtedly have killed you.”

  “Is he… is he dead?”

  “Yes. But he was already dead.” 

Castiel pressed two fingers to Benny’s forehead, drawing the green traceries of power to him and using the vacuum to start the blood moving again. He straightened up with emerald light trailing sickly from his hand, an unpleasant oily buzzing sensation. 

  “Awake,” he commanded Benny in Enochian, and the vampire jolted up with a grunt. 

  “Ow,” he said in a surprised voice, feeling at his breastbone. 

  “Hey,” Sam said, sounding immeasurably relieved. “What the hell were you thinking, man?”

  “That I could probably take whatever she was dishing out better’n you.” 

  “You were correct.” Castiel extended a hand to pull Benny to his feet. 

  “Where’d she go, anyways?” Benny asked, still looking a little dazed.

  “She ran off with the key,” Sam said. “Shit, Cas, we need to find her now. Dorothy said that key can turn any door into a portal to Oz.” 

  “Then why didn’t she just do it here?” Benny said.

  “Internal doors rarely have the structural integrity required to become portals,” Castiel said. “She will be looking for an exit.”

  “Kevin’s on his own in the library,” Sam said urgently, then gave a shocked gasp and doubled over, clutching his head. 

   Castiel saw the lurch of his soul, as the other part of it was bound. “Dean.”

He could always find Dean. He had found him through all the levels of Hell; one building was nothing. But the beacon of his friend was muted by a sickening green fog, smothering that independent spirit. In the library, Dean had his hands wrapped around Kevin’s neck and faerie light in his eyes. 

The faerie herself was nearly at the door leading out of the bunker, a cauldron of ingredients cradled in her hands. The Men of Letters had called her a witch but this was no petty hexer, wheedling the crumbs of power from greater beings. She carried her own magic. It curled around her like swamp mist, like a bramble thicket, like malign tentacles, smelling of ginger~iron~blood~hunger. Different to Castiel’s strength, but no lesser. He could free Dean or stop her using the key. He would not have time for both.

He landed immediately in front of the door, a scant two feet from her, and kept his wings spread on the etheric plane. She could not mistake what he was. Would it be enough? Beyond her, he saw Dean release the prophet, who stumbled backwards and fell, spluttering but alive. Dean came swiftly out of the library and up the stairs to stand at her shoulder.

  “Hag,” Castiel said, letting a shadow of his true form flash through his vessel’s eyes.

  “Seraph,” she said through Dean, his green eyes flaring acid-bright with her power.

  “Release him.”

  She smiled and ran a long fingernail down Dean’s jaw. “He is my pretty, not yours.” Castiel thrummed a whisper of power through the connection to his handprint on Dean’s shoulder and she hissed, flinching. “If I relinquish my claim to him, will you stand aside?”

  “No. You plan great wrong in Oz.”

  “Such arrogance! It is not your place to dictate morals to Faerie.” She cackled with her own mouth and spoke with Dean’s. “And the angelic host is in no position to claim a moral high ground.”

  “Nevertheless, I have a duty to save lives where I can.”

  “What a strange specimen.” She leaned forwards, sniffing the air around him. “You reek of mortals. Disgusting. Have you gone native?”

A slight movement in the room behind her. Castiel risked a glance and saw Charlie creeping towards the stairs, a gun clutched in both hands. The faerie noticed his faltering attention and began to turn. Castiel shook his angel blade free and stabbed swiftly. She snapped back round, snarling, as Dean knocked the blow harmlessly aside. Her hands came up in cruel claws, blazing emerald. Dean grabbed at his wrist, wrestling for the blade. He slammed his elbow sharply into Dean’s jaw, knocking him back a step, and raised his other hand against the faerie’s power. Heavenly light flared under his skin. The shadows of his wings raced up the walls. Green met white in a deafening explosion. Castiel braced his feet against the strain, grunting with effort. Dean grabbed him from behind. A strong arm curled around his neck, choking.

  “Charlie!” He roared. “Now!” 

The sound of a gunshot. The faerie screeched, arching her back. Power flared in her eyes and Castiel staggered a little as the opposing force vanished. She turned in fury and Charlie shot again, and again. The faerie staggered, blinked, and collapsed. The arm around his throat dropped away and Dean’s gravelly tones sounded in his ear.

  “What the hell just happened?”

   Charlie grinned excitedly, waggling the gun. "Poppy bullets. Ding dong, bitches!"


	6. Kevin

Kevin’s throat was on fire. He lay on his back and flinched at every heavy breath. Then Dean’s face loomed over him and he scrambled backwards in a panic.

  “Woah, easy, buddy!” Dean held up both hands, looking contrite. “It’s okay.”

  “You tried to strangle me!” Kevin rasped, every word feeling like sandpaper across his vocal chords. 

  “It was not Dean,” Cas said, appearing at his other side. “He was under the hag’s control.”

Kevin didn’t relax. Of course Castiel would take Dean’s side. It didn’t change what had happened. The angel leaned down with a frown, ignoring his flinch, and pressed two fingers to his forehead. Warmth spread down his throat and the pain eased.

  “Better?” Dean said, watching critically. 

  “No thanks to you,” Kevin muttered, getting to his feet and walking in a wide circle round the hunter.

Charlie and Dorothy were by the map table, standing over the comatose body of the Witch.

  “She’s not dead,” Dorothy was saying emphatically. “I told you, we couldn’t find anything that would kill her.”

  “But I shot her, like, three times!”

  “Poppy bullets. She’s just drugged, and I don’t know how long that will last.”

  Charlie looked deflated. “So what do we do with her?”

  “Can’t we put her back in the jar?” Kevin suggested.

  Dorothy looked stern. “There is no other option.”

  “No way!” Charlie protested. “You already spent seventy five years as a preserve. There’s got to be something else we can do.”

  “I could eat her,” came a drawl from the doorway, as Benny and Sam came in. The vampire stood over the Witch with an ugly expression. “Little payback for putting me down.”

  “Putting you down?” Dorothy said sharply. “Why aren’t you dead?”

  “Who says I ain’t?” Benny flashed her a toothy grin and she took an abrupt step back, dropping into a defensive crouch.

  “Dude, didn’t I tell you not to do that?” Sam said wearily as he passed by on his way to Dean. 

The two of them met in the library entrance, reaching for each other, foreheads pressing together, voices low. Kevin looked away, swallowing against the queasiness that their PDAs still triggered. 

  “No, it’s okay,” Charlie was saying quickly. “Benny’s a good guy.”

  “He’s a vampire,” Dorothy snapped. “Is that what the Men of Letters have come to, associating with monsters?”

  “But he’s a  _ good  _ vampire,” Charlie insisted. “He’s, like, totally on the wagon.”

  “Human-free diet,” Benny said easily. “But that don’t cover faeries. ‘Specially those that take a swing at me.” He nudged the Witch with an ungentle foot. 

  “I would not advise it,” Castiel said. “I suspect you would find her somewhat indigestible.”

  “Pity.”

  “So what  _ do  _ we do with her?” Charlie said plaintively. “It’s not like there’s a handy volcano just outside.”

  “You need something from Oz,” Kevin said, and swallowed as everyone turned to look at him. “I was doing some more reading. There’s quite a lot of faerie lore in the files. Anyway, it’s not just faeries, it’s anything extra-planar, I think. They’re made differently, so stuff from this plane doesn’t affect them the same way. They can only be permanently killed by stuff from theirs.”

  “Brother, you lost me at extra,” Benny said.

  “No, it totally makes sense,” Charlie said enthusiastically. “It’s like with angels, right? The only thing that can kill them is their own blades, which are from Heaven.”

  “Angels?” Dorothy shook her head. “There’s no such thing as angels.”

  Castiel cleared his throat. “I respectfully disagree, Miss Baum.”

  “The point is,” Kevin broke in, before there was another dominance display, “we need something from the faerie world.”

  “There’s one more bullet,” Charlie said, looking doubtful. 

  “That will just knock her out.” Dorothy shook her head. “We need something stronger.”

  Castiel raised his hand and Kevin squinted at it. There was something wound around his fingers, like thread or slime. “This is the power she used to try and kill Benny. I presume it will have the same effect on her.”

  “Worth a shot,” Dean said behind Kevin, making him jump. He took a hasty step to the left, out of Dean’s reach. Better safe than sorry. 

  “I am not comfortable with killing her,” Castiel said slowly, looking down at the unconscious Witch. “She is not necessarily evil. Just… other.”

  “Cas, man, she tried to murder Benny and Kevin. And you too, remember?”

  “And she wants to start a war in Oz,” Sam added, his voice softer, more persuasive. “The good of the many, huh?”

It was their own kind of magic, Kevin thought, not for the first time. They talked and, for whatever reason, people listened. Even angels of the fucking Lord put aside their doubts, went down on one knee, and pressed fatal fingers to the chests of faeries. The Witch spasmed, arching sharply off the floor, and then slumped. Then slumped some more as she vanished, leaving behind a puddle of robes. 

  “Er… is that normal?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes.” Dorothy crouched to rummage through the material. “The Wicked Witch of the East disintegrated when she died, too. Ah, here it is.” She produced an ornate wooden icon and straightened up. “Thank you for everything.” She looked around the circle of faces. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a rebellion to finish. So,” turning to Charlie with a smile, “you coming or what?”

  “What… with you?” Charlie looked flummoxed. “To Oz?”

  “You said you were looking for adventure. Well, here it is, Red.”

  Dean unfolded his arms and Sam straightened up, both of them making themselves bigger. “You have no idea what’s in Oz. I mean, there’s flying monkeys, armies of witches, there’s all kinds of danger.”

  Charlie looked up at them, eyes alight, apparently oblivious to the command to stay. “Promise?”

Kevin braced himself for the inevitable argument. Sam would be insistent and reasonable, Dean would yell, and Charlie would do as they wanted. The way everyone did.

She stepped forward as Dean drew in a breath and hugged him. He swallowed, working his jaw, and looked away. Sam leaned in with a smile.

  “You need anything, just tap your heels together three times, okay?”

  Kevin’s jaw dropped. 

  She smiled brilliantly at them all. “Take care of yourselves, boys.”

Dorothy gave a nod and walked up the stairs. Charlie followed, glancing back over her shoulder with a nervous grin. At the top of the stairs, Dorothy leaned over the handle of the main door, fiddling with the key, and then threw it open. Golden light spilled into the room, heady with the smell of flowers and road dust. On the table next to him, Kevin caught the flash of a green dot appearing on the map. Charlie gave a final wave, and then the door closed behind them and they were gone. The green dot vanished. 

  “Think she’ll be back?” Dean said, still looking up.

  “Of course. There’s no place like home.” 

Sam smiled, sliding his hand around the back of his brother’s neck. Kevin bent over the table, focusing furiously on not looking at them. They hadn’t let Charlie go - they were just certain she’d return. No one could leave, not really. 

Still, at least he’d be able to ask Charlie to talk him through her coding when she came back. Which was a good point, now he thought about it. She’d left her tablet in the generator room with the software running. He took off towards the door.

  “Hey, Kevin, you alright?” Sam called.

  “Leave him, man, he’s just sulking.”

  “Well, you did try to choke him.”

Kevin left their voices behind. He couldn’t be near them, not right now. Better to focus on something else, something that would help track down and kill everything that went bump in the night so they would finally let him go back to his normal life. With luck, Charlie had left him that chance of freedom. 

By the time he got back to the war room with the tablet, the other four had vanished. He pulled a chair up to the table and opened the tablet settings. There was a wi-fi connection labelled Westeros. He selected it with a snort of amusement and the table lit up. 

  “Sweet.”

On the tablet screen, a directory opened with a drop-down menu and a search bar. The menu gave him 27 options - Monsters A-Z and Other. He picked a letter at random. A bunch of icons appeared, each with a profile pic seemingly selected from D&D source books. Daeva, Deity, Demon, Djinn, Dragon… 

Wait. 

He selected the Demon icon. It brought up a new window in a Wikipedia lay-out with a contents box. Description, subtypes, demonic omens, possession, exorcism, devil’s trap, runes of warding, methods of ganking. Charlie’s notes were seriously thorough. 

Flashes of light caught his eye. He raised his head slowly, mouth going dry. On the table, one by one, red dots were appearing. 


	7. Sam (Reprise)

  “Do you think Kevin’s okay?” Sam said, putting the last of the pans away.

  Dean leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed a hand over his face. “I dunno, man. Don’t think he’s gonna talk to me about it. I seem to keep pissing him off.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “My hands, though. And I’m always the one saying he can’t leave. Being the bad cop, y’know?”

  “We’re just trying to keep him safe.”

  “I bet he don’t see it that way.” Dean shrugged. “Whatever. It’s tomorrow’s problem.”

Sam knew that for the bullshit it was. Dean had never once been able to set a worry aside in order to sleep. All that line meant was _Sam_ wasn’t supposed to stay up worrying. Dean had never quite worked out that Sam was much better at compartmentalising.

  Dean looked around the neat kitchen with a satisfied nod. “Good job. Thanks, Sammy.”

  “I reckon we got off pretty light. Especially considering what Cas was saying about hags being up there in the faerie hierarchy.”

  “Zero casualties, besides the bad guy? Yeah, I’d count that as a win. Beer?”

  Sam watched the muscles shift under Dean’s shirt as he pulled open the fridge door. “I felt it, you know,” he said conversationally.

  “What’s that?” Dean said, knocking the caps off both bottles and handing one over.

  “When the Witch took control of you. Felt like the worst case of vertigo ever, with a migraine on top.”

  Dean took a sip and swallowed it down with a thoughtful noise. “Answers that one, then.”

  “Not necessarily. Dorothy didn’t die when the Witch did.”

  “Is that what you were watching for, earlier? To see if she was gonna keel over when Cas zapped the bitch? Kinda cold, Sam.”

  “We needed to know,” Sam said, setting the untouched beer down with a little too much force. “I needed to know. Minor effects go both ways but death doesn’t. It was important.”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, don’t go getting any ideas about being reckless.”

  “I just meant-”

  “I know what you meant, Sammy, but you’re wrong. Even if it ain’t an instant effect, it’ll come to the same thing in the end.”

  Sam forced a smile. “Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?”

  “Oh, and shoving half your soul into my corpse wasn’t?” Dean retorted.

  “I watched you die, Dean. Again. How many times do I -” Bile and breathlessness rose in his throat as he flashbacked to the hellhounds, to Gabriel’s fucking Tuesday Taster lesson, to his brother stretched pale and lifeless in a hospital bed whilst machines whined uselessly around him. Dean on the floor of the dungeon with Kevin breathing for him. “I can’t, I can’t, I couldn’t…”

  “Hey, hey, easy, I gotcha.” Dean put his beer down and hauled Sam close, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. “Easy, Sammy, I’m right here, ain’t going nowhere without you, little brother.”

Sam dragged in deep, shaking breaths. He hadn’t expected that overwhelming wave of emotion. He’d thought he’d dealt with it, that Dean’s constant presence had banished the panic. Apparently not. He pressed his face against Dean’s chest and fought back the tightness in his throat. Dean kept up the steady murmur of reassurance. One thumb stroked warm circles into the nape of his neck and Sam focused on that point of contact, using it as an anchor to weigh himself back into his body. Finally his heart stopped pounding and he pulled back a little, eyes down.

  “You think it’s any different for me?” Dean said, grasping Sam’s shoulders. “First time I saw you laid out, I panicked so bad I kissed a demon, remember? That’s kinda my point. You and me, we’ve always done this. Soul-bond don’t change anything.”

  “I felt her take you,” Sam said softly, reaching for his drink, needing the displacement activity of something in his hands. “And it hurt so much I couldn’t do anything to help.”

  “Okay, that’s valid.” Dean inhaled deeply. “We gotta be careful when we hunt, then. Normal salt’n’burns are fine but anything that could dick with our souls, we make sure to take precautions. Helps that we got a team now, which is frankly awesome. And it was good to have my first case off the bench on home turf so we could catch this stuff in a safe environment.”

  “Okay, but…”

  “No, Sammy, look at me.” Dean moved one hand to the back of his neck, holding him still. He raised his head reluctantly to meet Dean’s intense expression. “I need you to listen carefully,” Dean said, his voice dropping a tone. “This is something I maybe shoulda said years back, only I didn’t want to come across all big brother. That and I thought you knew it anyway. But when you start talking about death not going both ways, fuck…” He inhaled raggedly. “So I’m gonna lay it out in words of one syllable.”

  He was clearly distressed. Sam reached a hand up, grasping his wrist. “Dean…”

  “You said you’d listen.”

  Sam stilled, nodded.

  “You ain’t got the right to risk your life, Sam. It don’t belong to you, any more’n mine belongs to me. Understand?” Dean grinned suddenly and patted Sam’s cheek. “So suck it up, princess. Coz we’re gonna be putting up with each other for a long while yet.”

Sam felt a tightness in his chest. He swallowed and leaned in to press a fervent kiss on Dean’s lips. Then stepped back, took a long pull from his beer and made a deliberate effort to change the tone.

  “So, what with the whole Oz situation, you realise there’s one important thing that didn’t happen today?”

  “What’s that?”

  “We never got dessert.”

  A slow predatory smile crept across Dean’s face. “That’s fucking tragic, Sammy.”

  “Want to help me fix the problem?”

  “Hold up a sec.” Dean held two fingers to his neck. “Yeah, I still got a pulse. What was the question again?”

Sam gave a huff of laughter. That he could still laugh, after everything he’d seen and done and had done _to_ him, was a minor miracle for which Dean was solely responsible. A thrill of tension shivered through his chest, so intense that he had to pause for a moment.

  “Last one to the bed has to do clean up.”

  “You’re on, bitch.”

Dean slammed his beer down and launched himself towards the door. Sam shoulder-blocked him on the way up the steps and gained a few inches, before Dean wrapped a fist in his shirt and hauled him backwards. They charged down the corridor, wrestling at high-speed. Sam had a longer stride but Dean took corners tighter. In the final stretch he managed to shove his foot between Sam’s ankles and Sam tripped, staggering twice before losing his balance entirely. He landed on his stomach with a grunt of impact and Dean disappeared into the bedroom, whooping in victory.

  Beside Sam, another door opened. “Alright there, brother?” Benny said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

  “Yeah.” Sam pushed himself upright. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Nah, I appreciate the warning.” Benny grinned and shut his door behind him. “Figure I’ll be less disturbed if I head on up to the library for a while.”

  Sam flushed hotly. “There’s such a thing as ear plugs, you know.”

  “I know.” Benny strolled past. “Hey, Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  The vampire wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Bite him?”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

Benny laughed and wandered away. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and finally made it to his room. Dean was laid out on the bed, shirtless, with his arms behind his head and a grin lighting up his face.

  “You get lost or something? Shift your ass over here.”

  Sam stripped off his shirts and jeans hastily. He straddled Dean’s lap, running his hands up that muscled torso, briefly touching every faint scar. “Like this?”

  “For starters.” Dean’s fingers danced up his thighs, teasingly light. “What’s on the menu? Fancy the chef’s special?”

  Sam closed his eyes in despair. “Seriously, dude, you suck at sweet-talking.”

  “Okay, how’s this?” Dean’s hand dropped and Sam stiffened as there was a sudden warm pressure around his cock. “I’m gonna make you ride me until you scream, little brother. Gonna fill you up, fuck you so hard the only thing you can say is my name.” Sam ground down against Dean’s denim-covered erection with a groan of desire. Dean chuckled, pleased and slightly breathless. “Greedy tonight, Sammy.”

  “Shut the fuck up and lose the fucking jeans.”

  “I would but there’s a sasquatch in the way.”

Sam knelt up, lifting himself off Dean’s lap. His cock rubbed against the bare skin of Dean’s stomach and he rocked forward, seeking pressure. Dean wriggled underneath him, one hand dipping between them to undo the zipper. His knuckles brushed against Sam’s balls, sending a jolt of heat through his chest. Sam bit down on a moan and rutted forward again, leaving a trail of precome.

  Then there was a familiar fluttering sound and Castiel cleared his throat at the foot of the bed. “I apologise for interrupting.”

  “Cas, what the fuck?” Dean yelled, snatching at the sheet. “Personal space, remember?!”

  Sam groaned and rolled off his brother to sit up, taking a pillow with him in a belated attempt at modesty. “This had better be important.”

  “You have a phone call.” Cas held up his cell and Sam squinted fuzzily at the caller ID. Only three digits. “You’re on speaker.”

  And a velvet-soft purr said: “Hello, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the sex scene that wouldn't. The boys just refused to get it on and, in the end, I gave up. I apologise. Amends will be made in the next instalment.
> 
> Obviously there will be a next instalment. The point of cliffhangers is that there's more to come. The next one is called 'Devil's in the House of the Rising Sun'. Guess who's in that one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving kudos! It makes writers happy. :-)


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